I’m a terrible person, Roz.” I was on Roz’s bed this time, watching as she got dressed for dinner. Her boyfriend was a reporter for the Globe, and there was apparently a banquet he’d invited her to. Roz didn’t have the best taste in clothes, but I wasn’t going to tell her that her purple sequined gown made her look like a disco ball.

“Sarah, you’re not terrible. They’re not even dating yet. It’s not like you were having an affair! You just kissed the guy.”

I could still feel his kiss on my lips. Even two days later, it still burned. I could still feel the wall against my back, and whenever I thought about that bulge, pressing right at the very core of me. Fuck!

“Yah. But I knew he was interested in Yvette. One glass of wine, and I’m Jezebel!”

Roz rolled her eyes, sliding in her dangling silver earrings. “You’re hardly Jezebel, and he’s a grown-ass man. He invited you over to his place, he fed you lobster, and he kissed you. Stop feeling guilty. What I can’t believe is that you hooked him up with Yvette. What were you thinking?”

“I panicked.” And I’d been second guessing it ever since. Yvette hadn’t been interested in him – but I was. And I swear he’d been interested in me.

“No shit, you panicked.” Roz struck a pose in her mirror and then spun, going over to her desk and searching through the mess there for something she apparently thought she needed. I’m surprised Roz could find anything in this room. It was terribly cluttered at the moment. Roz was a teacher, and piles of paper were strewn about her desk. Her floor was barely visible through all the clothing she’d tried on and discarded. “Seriously, Sarah, where's your self-confidence? You like the guy, right? What makes you think that Yvette is better than you are?”

“You want a list?”

“Sarah…”

“She’s worldlier, she’s more beautiful, she has more money, she’s a damn deal smarter, she’s entrepreneurial…”

“I get it, I get it, you worship at the Delacroix shrine,” Roz grumbled and then smiled when she found what she was looking for: a silver cuff bracelet. “Calm down. Seriously, Sarah, you’re pretty, you’re smart, you’re creative, you’re kind…”

“Roz, stop, I don’t need a pep talk.”

“Well, not anymore,” said Roz. “It’s too late now…”

My phone buzzed, and I stared at it, cursing. “It’s Yvette,” I said. “She just got a call from the Chanel people. I’ve got to go send some emails. Have fun tonight!”

Roz frowned at me. “Don’t work too hard, babe.”

The next day, Yvette breezed into the office at 9:30. It was late for her (she usually arrived closer to 8:00), which meant she’d been out late the night before. But she was wearing a change of clothes, so she hadn’t slept at Burke’s place. In fact, she looked casually gorgeous. She wore a pair of designer jeans and a black top with a fuchsia jacket that offset the dark richness of her hair.

“How’d the date go?” I asked. I would have asked her anyway, even if it hadn’t been with Burke.

“The Sauvage?” she said. “I like him.” She smiled at me. “I wasn’t so sure the first time. He seemed a bit… I don’t know. Dull. But we talked about art and about culture. He’s funny. Quick and dry. Very French humor,” she smiled. “I let some of the paparazzi take our picture when we left.”

“Really?” That wasn’t normal. Yvette usually tried to avoid paparazzi. She liked to control her own image.

“I want that loathsome Luis to see it. I want him seething with jealousy.”

Oh God! Had she gone on the date with Burke just to make Luis jealous? That would have been a totally Yvette move. She wasn’t a bitch – but she’d grown up wealthy, and she wasn’t the most empathetic person alive. Some people called her rude; I just thought of her as matter of fact.

“But you like him?”

“I do, yes. He’s handsome in a rough kind of way. I’m going to convince him to grow a beard,” she smiled. “He’s invited me to the ring ceremony.”

“The ring ceremony?”

“Yes. They win some plate thing – bowl thing? – and they get rings. Sounds ridiculous, but he said that Paul Chapin is catering the event – which means the food will be good. And there’s the press. Becca Barnes is going, too – so I said I’d go.”

The Super Bowl ring ceremony. Melancholy rose up suddenly. If I hadn’t pushed Yvette at him the other night, would Burke have invited me to the ring ceremony? Probably not. Men like Burke Tyler – wealthy, handsome football players – viewed women like me as expendable. I’d made that mistake before with some of Yvette’s famous friends. A famous photographer had flirted with me at one of her events, taken me out to dinner, and then back to his place. We’d had fun, but that had been all he was interested in. I’m not even a D-lister. I’m an assistant. One of Yvette’s friends had once described me as popcorn – delicious but forgettable. While Yvette had come casually to my defense, the comment had hurt, and it had stuck.

“When is the ring ceremony?” I asked brightly, pushing down feelings of intense regret.

“Two weeks,” said Yvette, disappearing into her office. “Just two days after we get back from Italy.”

Italy. I’d forgotten about Italy. How could I have forgotten about Italy? You’ve been distracted.

“Am I packed?” Yvette called from her office.

“Yes!” I lied, and got up to find our suitcases.